


Accidentally Mundane

by FannyT



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Convergence, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FannyT/pseuds/FannyT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Magnus meets a stunning and somewhat shy man in a café. And Alec meets a man who's vibrant and open and smiling. </p><p>It's a bit of a shame, they both reflect, that the people they meet are mundanes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidentally Mundane

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this idea](http://barryqueen.tumblr.com/post/144486031078/alec-and-magus-meet-at-a-mundane-cafe-running) from tumblr. 
> 
> This is set slightly before Shadowhunters canon, but with Alec already out to Izzy and Jace, at least.
> 
> Also, thanks as always to the wonderful Redorchid for beta and cheerleading!

_La Folie Douce_ has a new pastry chef, and the hype has been quite hysterical. Magnus is not sure he believes it, and even less certain that it’s worth waiting in a line that stretches out the door, but Catarina usually has good taste in these matters. 

He amuses himself while waiting by observing the mundanes. These days, he doesn’t mingle too much with people other than downworlders, but it’s always interesting to see how the regular world changes. Some forties haircuts seem to be back in fashion, which is fun. He has fond memories of the forties—well, apart from all the war and loss and the heightened difficulty of being asian-looking in the west at the time. But at least there were some pretty good fashion choices.

He finally manages to get to the counter and order an assortment of french pastries, then turns with bag in hand to find his way blocked by a ridiculously attractive man—tall and dark-haired, and sadly covered in an annoying number of layers and scarves. 

On the other hand, Magnus has always liked unwrapping presents. 

“ _Hello_ ,” Magnus says, at first trying not to stare outright and then deciding what the heck. “Sorry, am I in the way?”

“Uh,” the guy says, proving not for the first time that looks and eloquence unfortunately do not always go hand in hand. “Sorry, no, I was just getting my coffee.”

He gestures awkwardly to the counter, where a takeaway cup is just being deposited. Magnus takes it and hands it over, and the guy smiles back at him. 

That kind of smile, Magnus feels, ought to come with a warning label. 

“So have you tried their pastries?” he says quickly, before the guy has a chance to turn away. “Couldn’t help noticing you seem light in that department.”

“Um, no?” the guy says. “I was just—I’m really only here for the coffee.”

“Well,” Magnus says, “from what I’ve been told, they’re not to be missed.” 

He waits to be politely brushed off. Instead, the guy takes a sideway step away from the counter, giving space for the other customers, then stops and takes a sip of his coffee, looking at Magnus over the rim of his cup. 

“So you’d recommend it, then? Do you—uh, do you come here often?”

Magnus smiles. “I’m starting to see the charm.” He hesitates, then makes a quick decision. Catarina will understand him bailing today. Probably. “Actually, today just might be your lucky day,” he says, hefting the bag with a mock apologetic smile. “I seem to have splurged. If you want to see what the hype is about, you can join me for a _pet-de-nonne_.”

The guy’s eyes widen, and he smiles again. “I’m hoping that’s not—well, what it sounds like.” 

Magnus gives him another once-over. So. Lovely smile, not too used to flirting and knows French, apparently. He likes what he’s discovered so far, and he’s just getting started. 

“Only one way to find out,” he says, raising his eyebrows. 

There’s a moment’s hesitation, but then the guy nods. “Why not? There’s a park nearby that’s nice.”

“Well, then.” Magnus smiles and extends a hand, shallowly pleased that he had his nails done yesterday. “My name is Magnus, by the way.”

There’s a tiny shock as the guy takes Magnus’s hand, and Magnus scolds himself inwardly. He could swear he wasn’t leaking any magic, but he clearly needs to be even more careful. 

“Alec,” the guy says. “Nice to meet you.”

* * *

“Alec!”

Alec looks up from his phone, guilty. “What?”

“Where’s your head?” Jace asks, gesturing to the board behind him. “Werewolf incursions into vampire territory. Were you even listening?”

“Sorry.” Alec clears his throat, putting his phone away again and shifting in his seat. “Yeah, sure. There have been a couple of forays this month, but as far as my informant knows, it’s more a case of young wolves testing boundaries than any organised expansion. There are a couple of new recruits in the Lower East Side Pack who have been making waves. They’re going to get shut down by their pack leaders eventually, so I don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about.”

His pocket chimes. 

“Sorry,” Alec repeats, fumbling quickly for the phone. “I need to check this; it might be—” 

His phone reads _WHAT’S UP BROOOOO_ , and he looks across the table to find Izzy grinning at him. 

“What has got you glued to your phone all of a sudden, big brother?” 

Jace sighs. “We’re still in a _meeting_ —” 

Izzy waves a hand. “Shut up, Jace, no one cares. It’s totally fine; everything’s quiet right now. Well. Apart from Alec’s phone, of course.”

Jace rolls his eyes, but shuts the board down, and he and Izzy both look at Alec expectantly. Alec hesitates. Still, probably best to just jump straight into it. 

“I met someone.”

Izzy’s mouth drops into a gleeful _O_. “No. Fucking. Way! Where? What’s he like? How did it happen?”

“It was at _La Folie Douce_ ,” Alec replies. “We just—kind of bumped into each other.” He steels himself and continues, “He’s mundane.”

Izzy just grins wider, but Jace frowns. “Why weren’t you under glamour?” 

“Because I needed to interrogate the barista!”

“I bet you did,” Izzy says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen that barista.”

“Ha, ha.” Alec rolls his eyes at her. “He’s my contact.”

“ _He’s_ the werewolf informant? OK, do you want to get rid of that gig? Because I can take over.” 

“What with how your latest dalliance with mundanes turned out, I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be allowed within ten feet of them,” Jace says, folding his arms and raising his eyebrows. 

“You have such little faith in me.” Izzy turns back to Alec. “So, the guy. What was he like?”

“Very… colourful.” Alec clears his throat, looking away. “I mean, he was interesting. Quite… out there.”

“Didn’t know that was your type,” Jace says, with a somewhat awkward grin. 

Alec frowns. “Not sure I have a type,” he says, feeling himself get defensive. “He was just… he seemed fun.”

Izzy looks from him to Jace, then claps her hands together. 

“As much as I _love_ discussing your attempts at romance, brother—”

“Too much,” Alec says, and Jace grins. 

“—I really need to talk to you about something. Sorry, Jace.”

“That’s fine,” Jace says, with something almost like relief, and leaves. 

Alec sighs, leaning back. “Thanks.”

“It’s so awkward, watching Jace try to talk to you about guys,” Izzy says, pursing her lips. 

“He’s trying,” Alec says, frowning at her. Considering that his recent coming-out came on the heels of an awful and terribly non-subtle crush, he feels like there are so many worse ways Jace could have handled the situation. He may be uncomfortable at times and at others wildly and inappropriately enthusiastic about Alec potentially meeting guys, but they’ve still got their friendship at the heart of it all. 

“I know he’s _trying_ , Alec, but he’s also failing.” 

Alec gives her a tired look, and she rolls her eyes. “Fine, fine. He’s our precious darling brother and he is doing his best.” She leans forward, putting her chin in her hands. “So, the guy. Tell me _everything_.”

“Thought you needed to talk to me about something?”

“I did. I’m doing it.” Izzy grins. “What happened?”

Alec gives in. “We had some pastries. Talked a bit. He runs some kind of second hand book store, I think? I’m not sure.”

“Did you make out?” 

“What? No!” Alec feels his face grow hot. “I—well, actually I had to go.”

“Boo,” Izzy says, pouting at him. 

“I saw a demon change faces ten feet away. I couldn’t let it run free.”

“You need to allow yourself to have a life once in a while,” Izzy sighs. “Let us handle killing the demons. You could have texted me.”

“You know it could have changed faces fifty times before you even got there,” Alec insists, smiling back at her. “And did I mention it was basically right in front of the guy I was with? Besides, I got the impression he had somewhere to be, anyway. He kept doing this weird thing with his hands, like he was stopping himself from checking his watch.”

“That’s a good sign, though!” Izzy leans back in her chair, grinning widely. “Obviously he was blowing something off to be with you. So when are you meeting up again?”

Alec makes a face, checking his phone again. “Don’t know. We haven’t decided on anything, really.”

“You’re already texting like teenagers, though,” Izzy points out, smiling fondly at him. “And of course you’ll see him again. He’d be a fool otherwise.”

Alec finds himself smiling, too. “You’re my sister; you have to say that.”

“True,” Izzy agrees pleasantly. “But still. Now, let’s go find Jace again so we can put that vampire thing to rest.”

* * *

“You rely on your magic way too much, my friend,” Ragnor says, lying outstretched on Magnus’s divan and lazily flipping through an old photo album—without touching the pages, Magnus notes. 

“Well, hello there, pot.” Magnus starts to snap his fingers, then scowls and gets up from his chair, walking over to the bar himself. “This is agony.”

“Poor little you,” Ragnor says without even a hint of sympathy. “Maybe you should just stick to moping at home, then.”

“I do not mope. I enjoy pursuits of the mind in refined seclusion.”

“Such a nice way of saying _I drink alone, surrounded only by books_.”

Magnus rolls his eyes and puts the finishing touches to his drink without using any magic at all, quite proud of himself. “I don’t know how people do it. I haven’t tried to hit on anyone mundane for ages. What do you even talk about?”

“I think it might be football season,” Ragnor says vaguely. Magnus just looks at him. “Well, don’t ask me. I haven’t even had an interesting flirt since Akeelah left with that tiresome werewolf.”

“She wasn’t good for you anyway,” Magnus says, then when Ragnor shoots him an angry glare, looks away innocently and takes a sip of his drink. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“Let’s go back to your crushing failure at dating,” Ragnor says waspishly. “So you meet this boy, you feed him all of Catarina’s ordered pastries—sickeningly sweet, blah blah blah, she will make you pay for it at some point—and you only just manage to stop yourself from using magic in front of him about, oh, twenty times or so. What happened then?”

Magnus takes another sip of his drink—which is really sub-par without the addition of fire magic, actually; he needs to get some mundane cocktail books. “Well, what happened next was that this stunning specimen of a mundane boy got nervous, muttered something about a previous engagement and left.”

Ragnor makes a face. “Well, that is even more terrible than I imagined. Sorry, my dear. It appears that solitude is your future now. You should look into getting a cat.”

“You are nowhere near as funny as people tell you you are.” Magnus shrugs. “Besides, he gave me his number first. And we’ve been texting since, I want to add.”

“Oh, well, then. You might be up for a pity shag, at least.”

Magnus throws him a filthy look, then takes out his phone and dials demonstratively. 

“Hello, Alexander?” he says, holding up a finger to silence Ragnor’s snickering. “You wouldn’t happen to be free today?”

* * *

Alec hangs up and grins, aware that he must look stupid standing around and smiling to himself but not quite able to stop, either. 

There is something about Magnus’s straightforward way of speaking that’s very attractive. Alec hasn’t dated much since coming out—or, well, ever—but the few encounters he’s had were more of a dance, a social game he didn’t know the rules to. 

Magnus, in contrast, is clear and honest when he talks (even if he’s quite vague when it comes to the fine details of his life, Alec has noted), obviously flirtatious with no attempts to be coy or cool. He doesn’t look much older than Alec, but somehow, he feels more—mature, or something. Although that’s an expression he knows would make Izzy roll her eyes so hard it’d probably hurt. 

Alec walks around the corner and almost runs straight into his sister, who’s leaning against the wall and grinning widely. Speak of the devil. 

“Will you stop doing that?” Alec asks, frowning at her. “It’s creepy, you know.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation,” Izzy says innocently. 

“Creepy,” Alec repeats, resuming his walk with what he hopes is purpose and dignity. 

“So you’re meeting up right now, huh?” Izzy says, falling into step with him. 

“Well, we have that mission tonight, so yeah. Don’t have much free time later.”

“Ugh, just blow it off. No one will notice.” 

“Everyone will notice, Izzy.” 

She laughs, pulling him to a stop just inside the Institute’s front door. “Fine. Then have a lovely time, and tell me all about it later.”

“Thanks.” Alec hesitates, then decides to just ask the question that’s been running through his mind since Magnus first texted him. “So, I’m, uh—what do you do on dates?”

Izzy shrugs, looking vaguely confused by the question. “I don’t know, have sex?” 

Alec makes a face. Izzy has always lived by the parole “sharing is caring”, despite the fact that Alec has frequently suggested that there might be such a thing as caring too much. 

“Never mind,” he says. “Should have known better than to ask you.”

“Oh, come on,” Izzy laughs. “Maybe just focus on trying to get to know him for now? Like, for example, finding out where he works.”

“So you can stalk him?”

“Don’t be so suspicious. I would never. Not obviously, at least.” She looks him up and down. “Hang on, is that what you’ll be wearing?”

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You’re wearing way too much, for starters.” She makes a grab for the buttons of his shirt, but he manages to dodge just in time. “Come on, big bro! You basically look like a Silent Brother. You want to make an impression, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I don’t want that impression to be _makes disastrous tattoo choices_ ,” Alec snaps, adjusting the scarf around his neck. “I’d like to get through at least one date before I have to explain why I have weird runes all over my skin.”

Izzy crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “So I take it you won’t be putting out today, then?” she says, grinning at him. 

“Leaving now, Izzy.”

* * *

Magnus sips his coffee, sneaking a glance at Alexander over the rim of his cup. They’ve had a wonderful start to their date, with Alexander after some prodding turning out to be adorably enthusiastic if still sarcastic about his work—while also managing to be impressively vague about what that work actually entails. Magnus is starting to think it must be some sort of defense contract. What has become clear is that his whole family is in the same line of work, which fits with Alexander possibly being some sort of army brat, and that he has some sort of project or group leader role. He talks with part exhilaration and exasperation about taking on larger responsibilities, of stepping up and finding a way to lead those who have previously been his superiors. 

In other words, he’s some sort of young, rising star in the defense industry, and Magnus finds himself constantly surprised at how many new sides Alexander has to reveal. 

There’s also clearly some sort of tension within his family. He brushes quickly past his parents, and although there is fondness, there is also restraint. His sister, on the other hand, Alexander speaks about as a constant pain and thorn in his side, with the kind of transparently loving annoyance that’s typical for close siblings. There’s a beloved little baby brother, too, and then there’s another one—a foster brother, brought into their family when Alexander was twelve. 

Something about this brother makes Alexander awkward, and although Magnus backs off the subject when he realises it, the easy confidence of their conversation cools off a bit. Magnus decides it may be time to attempt a different tactic. 

“So,” he tries, “did you see the game last night? Didn’t think Hungary stood a chance, but there you go.”

Alexander looks startled for a moment. “Sorry.” He shrugs. “I don’t really follow rugby.”

“Soccer.”

“Oh. Obviously not that, either, then.”

Alexander gives Magnus another one of those ridiculous smiles. Magnus raises his eyebrows. 

“Well, me neither. I was just trying to make an impression.” He sighs theatrically. “Now I really feel silly, having forced myself through one of those stupid games for a conversation starter.”

Alexander grins, easy again. “So what do you like to do in your downtime, then?”

“Well—” Magnus hesitates. _Run a club for assorted fairytale creatures_ is probably not a winning answer. “I like to read,” he settles for. 

“I figured that,” Alexander says. 

“Really? How?” Magnus asks, almost alarmed. People usually don’t see anything but the glamour and the glitter. 

Alexander looks nonplussed. “Well, the bookstore.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” 

“Do you have a favourite period?” Alexander asks, seeming genuinely interested. He’s not too good at small talk, Magnus has realised, but makes up for it by being entirely invested when he does talk; his full attention given to his partner. It’s like having a spotlight turned onto oneself, and Magnus does love a spotlight. “For some reason, I would guess the Romantics.”

“Well, you’re not entirely wrong,” Magnus says, smiling. “Currently I’m working my way through the Russian masters, which I’ve sadly neglected for far too long. But I do have a soft spot for the Romantics. All that emotion, and no idea of what to do with it all. In fact, the Shelleys—”

He bites off the sentence just in time. Name dropping famous figures he’s met throughout history is a favourite hobby of his—it always impresses. And this time it’s actually true, which is far from often the case.

“The Shelleys certainly left their mark on the world,” he finishes lamely. “I once spent the most lovely weekend with a couple who’d clearly been inspired by Byronesque jaunts across Europe. Very open. Very inviting.”

Alexander laughs, ducking his head. “Sounds fascinating.”

“Oh, it was instructive,” Magnus says smugly. 

Catarina once told him that it was bad form to talk about previous partners when trying to meet a new one, but Magnus has always felt that it’s best to be as transparent as possible. No point in pretending one’s love life didn’t exist before—it’ll soon come to light anyway. Besides, he finds that being cheerfully open about past conquests tends to create a spark. 

In the current case, however, he needs to be a little more careful, of course. 

“So, Alexander,” he says, “Do you drink? Alcohol, I mean?”

“Uh, yeah?” Alexander says, grinning at him. “I mean, I’m twenty-two, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, no, I just didn’t want to assume. So many young people today opt out of drinking altogether.”

“Young people?” Alexander laughs. “What are you, like twenty-seven?”

Magnus curses inwardly. He was _just_ telling himself to be careful. Ragnor may have a point—he’s _bad_ at this. 

“It’s being surrounded by all those books every day,” he says breezily, leaning in and raising his eyebrows. “I think age leaks. But anyway. You do drink. Would you be interested in going to this little club I know? A friend recommended it recently.”

Alexander shrugs. “Sure. Which club?”

“It’s called _Pandemonium_ , I think.” 

Ragnor is going to sneer at him for this, but _Pandemonium_ has its fair share of mundanes as well. And although Magnus is less invested in the club life these days than he was, _Pandemonium_ is still his baby—a little sanctuary. He’d like to see what Alexander thinks of it. 

Alexander’s expression shifts into something a little strange for a moment. “That’s—I think I’ve heard of it,” he says. “Wasn’t that place shut down by the Health Department recently?”

“All nasty rumours,” Magnus says quickly, although yes, in hindsight it might not have been a good idea to let the swamp ogres host a theme night. “Or so my friend tells me. So what do you say? Interested?”

“I—” Alexander stops, looking away with his brow furrowing for a second. “Yeah, that might—sorry, can you give me a minute? Just need to use the bathroom real quick.”

“Go ahead,” Magnus says, trying to hold back a smirk as Alexander walks away. He really is dreadful at excuses—Magnus can only suppose he’s popped off for a momentary reassuring from a best friend or something. Or to check his work schedule, of course. He does seem to keep strange hours, talking vaguely about being called out for work at everything from ten AM on a Sunday to the middle of a weeknight. 

Magnus sits back, taking out his phone to send off a gloating text to Ragnor, when the hairs on his neck suddenly stand up, screaming warnings. There’s something wrong in this café, something twisted and dead and sulphurous. He pockets the phone again and, with some attempt at subtlety, flicks his wrist minutely while straightening his shirt sleeve, sending his magic out to pinpoint the source of the feeling. 

Demons. Here. Rumours are, they’ve been invading mundane spaces more and more this year. There’s something deeply worrying about that; a hint of a coming war. 

He picks up on the lingering, sickly yellow aura at the café’s counter. From there, like a slimy trail, it leads the way to— 

Magnus stands up so quickly his chair makes an ugly scraping sound as it’s pushed across the floor. Barely pausing to imagine how this must look, he rushes towards the bathroom and throws open the door. 

Alexander turns, looking startled. 

“Um. Hello?”

Magnus stares around the room. The stalls are all empty, and the place is silent. There is no one but Alexander in the room. But Magnus didn’t imagine the stink of demon—it was here, and now it’s not. 

Then again, it did have the crawly whiff of shapeshifter about it. It may have slithered away into some small space somewhere. 

Alexander is still staring at him, so Magnus takes a deep breath and smiles, giving him an expansive shrug. 

“Thought I heard a scream,” he says. 

Alexander grins at him. “So you came to rescue me?”

“Are you impressed?” Magnus quips, leaning his head to one side. 

Alexander looks away, his smile slanting and adorable. “Very gallant of you.”

They’re standing quite close together, and Magnus is having to use a very large amount of self control not to remove that final distance. But Alexander is young and sweet and recently out. Snogging in a smelly public bathroom feels kind of…not cheap, exactly, but too bland. Alexander is the kind of man you want to kiss by candle light. 

By all the gods, this man is turning him back into a hopeless romantic. 

“So,” he says, stepping back half a pace and clapping his hands together. “About Saturday.”

Alexander still looks uncertain for a moment, but then nods. “Yeah, sure. _Pandemonium._ Sounds fun.”

* * *

“What are you thinking?” Jace says, staring at him. 

“It’s a mundane place as much as downworlder,” Alec says, but he doesn’t sound too convincing, not even to himself. 

“It’s clearly downworlder territory,” Jace insists. “Isn’t it run by one of the warlocks?”

“It’s a safe space, though.” It’s one of the places the Institute tends to leave well alone, having had not much to do with the warlocks at all for the last twenty years or so. Alec has been thinking that they need to start looking into them at some point, but with all the vampire politics and rising demon threats and the angels only know what else, the quiet warlock community never seems to be high enough priority. On the other hand, they don’t prey on humans and they don’t involve themselves in any of the other little clan wars that are always blossoming among the other downworlders, so it may be better just to live and let live. 

“Safe,” Jace scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

“It is,” Alec says, frowning. “It’s one of the permanent truce places for downworlders. If anything, what with how there seem to be demons everywhere I go these days, it should actually be safer than a completely mundane place. The downworlders self-police _Pandemonium_ , just like they do all their spaces.”

“Still,” Jace says. “You’re not going in there without backup.”

“I’m not taking _backup_ to a date, Jace!”

He realises what he’s said in the very next moment, and fights to keep his face neutral. It’s so weird—he’s finding that somehow, one of the largest barriers he has these days is just words. Well, now “date” is out there, at least. (Up until now, the best he’s ever managed while talking to Jace was “meeting up with someone”.) It feels a bit like a milestone, actually. 

Jace is still looking dubious. “What if there’s an attack?”

“I have my bow and stele with me at all times. You know that.”

What he’s supposed to do with those—hidden away under glamour—if he and Magnus actually move past talking, that’s another question. He never had to worry about this stuff before. Partly because he’s only dated shadowhunters, but mostly, if he’s honest, because none of those dates were particularly successful. 

With Magnus, everything feels full of promise. It’s somehow slower than with other guys he’s met—they’ve barely touched, not even during their date when Alexander was a moment away from just leaning in and meeting Magnus’s lips with his own—and at the same time much more intimate. 

“And what if someone recognises you?”

“What?” Alec says, distracted from his thoughts. “Why would they?” 

“I mean, some of Izzy’s Seelie gang is bound to be there, at least.” 

“I don’t know any of them,” Alec points out, sighing inwardly. Jace can be somewhat self-centered at times—it isn’t ever anything malicious, but he tends to measure the world by himself. He and Izzy go out clubbing with Seelies now and again, and it must not have occurred to Jace that Alec has never joined them. 

“We’ve been to their parties together,” Jace says, looking vaguely puzzled. 

“Twice. To interrogate suspected Accord-breakers.”

Alec remembers both instances clearly and painfully. Izzy tried to talk him into pants two sizes too small. She can be annoying like that.

Jace seems about to argue, but finally he just sighs, folding his arms together. “OK, well, fine,” he says. “But you call us if anything happens, OK?”

“Promise. I’ll text the moment anything gets interesting.”

He realises how that sentence could be read in the next moment, when Jace turns away to hide a surprised grin. 

“Not too interesting, I hope,” he says, and Alec finds the teasing weirdly comforting. 

“So I take it you don’t want pictures, like Izzy?” he says, and laughs as Jace throws up his hands, warding the thought away and laughing as well. 

“Never,” he says forcefully, then claps Alec’s shoulder—hard, manful, very clearly not too intimate. Jace has reacted to Alec’s coming out by never offering a touch softer than a punch. 

In his defence, Alec doesn’t think he’s aware of that fact himself. 

“Have a great time, buddy,” Jace says, grinning at him. “And me and Izzy are following up on that blood-sucking demon tonight, so don’t worry about that. Just focus on your date.”

Alec grins back, and doesn’t realise until he’s halfway out the Institute that Jace used the word _date_ , too.

* * *

_Pandemonium_ is especially vibrant tonight, as if to celebrate. Magnus leads Alexander towards one of the quieter tables, glaring down anyone who even hints of coming over for too-familiar _hello’s_. He’s already forewarned the staff that he’s here in a private capacity, not as the owner. 

“It’s loud,” Alexander says in his ear, but he’s smiling as he does so. 

Magnus smiles back, pleased. So far, the only disappointment is Alexander’s outfit. Magnus hoped a club night might tempt him into a state of somewhat more undress, at least, but although he’s ditched a layer or so, his sleeves are still long and he has a pashmina tucked around his throat. Still, he’s walking right next to Magnus as they head towards their table, brushing up unnecessarily close as they squeeze past a gang of girls crowding up the way, the touch sending sparks running over Magnus’s skin. 

The table affords a good view out over the dancers, but it’s almost secluded and the noise isn’t overbearing. 

“It’s great that this was free,” Alexander says, looking out over the dance floor and sipping his drink with what appears to be some enjoyment, after the first surprised grimace (Amina mixes them strong and bitter—just like her, as the joke goes). 

“I know. What a stroke of luck,” Magnus says, and sends a grateful smile towards Jordan, who deftly removed the _RESERVED_ sign moments before they got there. 

Alexander looks back at him, eyes lingering on his hair. 

“You must have a patient barber,” he says. “Only two days ago, you had blond highlights.”

“Felt like a change,” Magnus says breezily. 

“Again? They were purple right before that.”

Magnus casts around for something to say. “And do you like it?” he says, putting a hand to the carefully styled hair for today. 

Alexander grins back. “Well, I won’t have time to get bored, at least.”

“I should think not,” Magnus quips, quietly exhilarated at the wording. He finds Alexander hard to read sometimes, but at least tonight, he seems to be thinking long-term. 

It’s funny. Before meeting Alexander, Magnus would have said that was the last thing he wanted. Aside from a rather lovely half year with an Italian painter in her Tuscany villa, for the last hundred years or so he’s shied away from any romantic entanglement longer than a couple of weeks. Alexander, however, makes Magnus want to drop everything else just to find out all the things that make him smile. 

He’s even started looking into how to go about getting a second hand bookstore, in case Alexander ever wants to come by his work. He’s that gone. 

Going to the club turns out to have been a great idea. The music is low enough by their table that they can hear each other quite well, so Magnus finds it promising that Alexander still feels it necessary to lean in close whenever he says something, breath ghosting over Magnus’s skin with every word. 

They’ve been talking for maybe half an hour, moving steadily closer on the sofa, when Magnus senses that he’s being watched. He looks up towards the bar and catches the eye of Catarina, who sends him a predatory grin. He widens his eyes back at her in warning, and she tilts her head half in invitation, half in challenge. 

Magnus leans over to take Alexander’s glass. 

“I see you’ve run dry,” he says with a quick smile. “Let me just go and rectify that.”

Catarina watches him head towards her, never breaking eye contact, and raises a wonderfully arched eyebrow at him as he joins her at the bar and signals to Amina for refills. Even under glamour, with her lioness features tucked away under human eyes and nose, Catarina still has the most amazing eyes—wild and warm at the same time. 

“You are a magnificent idiot,” she says. 

Magnus shrugs, feigning disinterest. “I wanted him to see this place.”

“Oh, I see. You’re really quite soppy about this one, aren’t you?” She smiles and puts a hand on her hip, looking over towards Alexander. “Still, I can see now why you chose to blow me off the other day. You’re almost forgiven. He’s adorable.”

“Mine, back off,” Magnus says, only half joking. She laughs at him. 

“I’m quite sure I’m not his type,” she says. “He’s way too cute to be left on his own, though; scurry back immediately, dear. But be aware that you owe me one. A big one. I don’t like being stood up.” 

“Will never happen again,” Magnus says, and she smiles at the obvious lie. 

“There’s something about him, though,” she says, just as he’s about to leave. “Somehow, he seems familiar.”

He pauses only to throw her a quick smile. “Great, get back to me about that. I have drinks to deliver.”

“Was that your friend?” Alexander asks as he returns. “The one who recommended this place?”

Magnus hesitates for only a second. “Yes,” he says. “Well spotted.”

“She seems to be really at home here. Guessed she might be involved in running the place. Have you known each other long?”

“A few centuries or so,” Magnus says, allowing himself the joke, then winks. “Or so it feels.”

Alexander looks as though he’s about to ask something else, but then stops and looks past Magnus, his half smile giving way for a startled grimace. 

“Oh, no…” He puts both hands over his face, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose. “My siblings are here. Really. They _promised_ not to come tonight.” 

Magnus turns around to look, catching a quick glimpse of a broody-looking blond boy being pulled towards one of the partitioned-off dance rooms by a strikingly beautiful girl. They’re both unusually well covered up for club going, the girl in particular with a long, black coat. Maybe overdressing is a family affliction. Or maybe, seeing as they’re all hilariously attractive, it’s a technique to avoid setting too many hearts aflutter at a time. 

“Your sister looks _amazing_ ,” he says. 

Alexander removes his hands from his face and smiles slightly. “Believe me, she knows.”

“So they want to keep an eye on you,” Magnus says, smiling back at him. “That’s kind of sweet.” 

“Try overbearing.” Alexander sighs. “Actually, do you mind if I just go and talk to them real quick? I’ll be back in a moment, promise.”

“Oh, well, if you promise,” Magnus says. 

Alexander stands up. “I’ll throw in a dance, too,” he adds, raising his eyebrows, and Magnus barely has time to be surprised before Alexander’s off, making his way over towards his siblings. 

Magnus sits back with a pleased grin, sipping his drink and looking out over the dance floor. This feels like it’s going well. Alexander seems to like the club, which is gratifying. Maybe Magnus could reveal his involvement in it eventually— 

He sits up straighter as he catches sight of two men in suits and sunglasses, standing around near the dance floor looking shifty and out of place. They look like budget bodyguards, the kind of person who looks for bruiser work to have an excuse to punch people, but that’s not what makes his skin crawl with old memories of pain and blood. 

As one of them turned his head to look towards the bar, Magnus saw the circle rune stand out red and ugly against his neck. 

He sets his drink down with a bang and stands up quickly, striding over towards the men with no thought for the consequences. He ought to find some backup first, really, but Catarina has disappeared again and he doesn’t want to involve any of the young warlocks working the bar tonight—they were all spared the horrors of the Uprising twenty years ago, and he’d like to keep them safe. 

“Circle members aren’t welcome in my club,” he spits, stopping in front of the men. They sneer back at him, self-assured. 

“No worries, warlock. It’s all ancient history,” one says, without even an attempt at sincerity. Magnus feels his glamour shatter with his rage, his cat’s eyes shining through, and fights to bring himself back under control. He can’t attack unprovoked. Circle members have done enough damage on the flimsiest excuses—there’s no need to give them better ones.

“Really? To me, it was like the blink of an eye,” he says, quite proud that he manages to make the words come out calm and ironic. Apparently it’s enough provocation for the second man, however, who makes a sudden move towards him. Before the man can even raise his hands, Magnus flicks his fingers, constricting the man’s air supply and raising him off the floor. 

He’s being careless and stupid, he knows, but the red circle rune makes him see Anya, Petrus, Philippe and all the rest of them, lying dead in the Accords Hall—slaughtered without mercy as they prepared to sign a peace treaty. 

“You stupid warlock,” the first Circle member says. He’s slimier-looking than the one currently writhing in the grip of Magnus’s magic, weaselly and sly, and he smiles smugly at Magnus. “Did you think we came here alone?”

And at that, Magnus senses the reek of shapeshifter behind him. He’s hemmed in, two shadowhunters in front of him and a demon behind. He’s been so stupid. 

The slimy-looking Circle member lunges towards him, and Magnus slashes wildly with his magic, throwing the man back. It only takes a moment, but as he starts to turn to face the demon, he knows that it’s a moment he didn’t have. He’s too slow. The shapeshifter’s energy is morphing, turning toxic and lethal, and Magnus doesn’t have enough time to stop it. 

As he turns, he sees it mid-spring, jaws opening like a sickly flower. And then it explodes. 

Stunned, Magnus looks past the glittering debris of demon and sees Alexander. He is standing straight and controlled, his face focused, already nocking a new arrow to the string of his bow. 

Magnus has lived through quite a few wars, the invention of the aeroplane and the way that the world for some reason collectively decided to accept the existence of crocs, but all of that seems tame in comparison to this revelation. 

“Who _are_ you?” he asks.

“Are you all right?” Alexander asks him tightly. 

“Well, shocked, but otherwise fine,” Magnus says, raising a finger. “What exactly—” 

Alexander takes aim, and for a terrible moment Magnus thinks it’s at him. But then he sees the contempt levelled somewhere slightly behind him, and remembers that he’s still holding on to the second Circle member with his magic. “You,” Alexander says flatly. “You are a shadowhunter. Why are you aligned with a demon?”

The Circle member groans, but still manages to force words out. “You understand nothing of this, pup. Go back to the Institute like a good little soldier boy.”

Magnus turns and raises an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think insults are your best play right now. Do you?”

“You will all see when our leader rises,” he responds, which is kind of impressive from a man in his position. “Then you will regret your preening arrogance, warlock.”

Despite the puffed-up melodrama, the words are chilling; Valentine Morgenstiern is supposed to be long dead, and his attempt at a coup with him. His cultish followers have always been weird, and this insistence on a resurrection—or whatever they’re touting now—may of course be nothing more than the obsession of people finding themselves on the wrong side of history, but it’s still worrying. Magnus has heard rumours of the Circle growing stronger, and if they’re colluding with demons now, they may be planning something disastrous. 

He considers just snapping the man’s neck here and now, but Alexander steps closer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave,” he tells the Circle member, and Magnus regretfully lets the magic holding the man trickle away. The other man is curled up on the floor, whining pathetically, but manages to rise with the help of his partner and hobble away. 

“Soon, you’ll see us rise,” one of them throws over his shoulder as they leave, and Magnus rolls his eyes. 

“They really don’t know when to leave well alone, do they?”

He looks up at Alec, who’s frowning after the Circle members. He looks stern and controlled, far from the awkward and open man Magnus liked to think he’s got to know. His scarf has slipped down over his shoulders, and the shadowhunter deflect rune is clearly visible against his neck. 

Things click into place, and Magnus groans inwardly. Tessa told him something about the New York shadowhunter institute being under new, young leadership. Maybe, Magnus feels suddenly, he ought to listen to her more often and involve himself a bit closer in their tiresome politics. It would certainly be nice not to be blindsided like this. 

Before he has time to say anything else, the beautiful sister comes running up to them. “I lost sight of where the last demon went; did you get it?” she says. Her hand is held at a slightly awkward angle, and Magnus realises that she is concealing a seraph blade up her coat. Quite successfully, too—he doubts anyone else would even notice. 

Apparently, Magnus has become involved with one of the Institute’s power families. 

“Yes, and I found their contacts,” Alexander says, making a move with his hand and deftly concealing his arrows again. “Shadowhunters. Don’t know what that is about. Is Jace OK?”

“He’s fine; he’s talking to a girl,” she says, but now she’s looking at Magnus, smile growing as she looks him up and down. “And _hello_. I’m Isabelle. And you must be—”

“Magnus Bane,” Magnus says, stepping forward to shake her hand.

“Bane?” She raises her eyebrows, glancing over at Alexander. “Alec left that detail out.”

“We hadn’t made it to last names yet, I’m afraid,” Magnus says. “Speaking of which—”

“Lightwood,” Alexander says shortly, and Magnus brings to mind Robert, and Maryse. Oh, dear. This is growing very complicated, very fast. 

“Well,” he says, tries to come up with something clever to follow, fails completely and settles for saying lamely, “This is interesting.”

“One word for it, I guess,” Isabelle says, and oh, Magnus _likes_ her. Below that cool exterior is fire, he can tell. 

“First of all, you need to report back to the Institute,” Alexander says. “They need to know about these demon-aligned shadowhunters. You and Jace get back as soon as possible. Raj is holding down the fort tonight; fill him in before you do anything else. We need to start research into rogue shadowhunter groups immediately.”

There he is, Magnus thinks. The young leader. The “army brat”. Well, it all makes sense now, in its own way. 

Fantastic. 

“Me and Jace? And what about you?”

“I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, remember?” Alexander says. “And I’m pretty sure Magnus has some new information to share with me.”

Magnus’s stomach plummets. Alexander’s tone is flat at the best of times, but he seems to stepped up his game. He sounds completely professional. Detached. The shadowhunter interviewing a downworlder. 

“Alec…” Isabelle says, then hesitates, looking between him and Magnus. Finally she nods. “Fine. Call me later, OK?”

“Sure,” Alexander says, and melts enough to smile at her as she leaves. 

Magnus sighs, and waves his fingers to bring a martini glass into his hand. Whatever interrogation this is about to turn into, he’s not facing it without a drink. 

“So,” he says, taking a sip and grimacing at the taste—he ought to know better than to summon when he’s in a mood, really. “The rogue shadowhunters you’re looking for are the Circle. Once known as your best and brightest, I might add.”

Alexander frowns at him. His bow has disappeared along with his quiver of arrows. Magnus is impressed—it’s a neat piece of glamour, invisible even to him. It’s intriguing, but mostly sad, to wonder if he’d have noticed it eventually, if things had gone the way he was hoping tonight. 

“The Circle?”

“A little shadowhunter cult that blossomed about twenty years ago. Before your time, I’d imagine, although of course I’m not too good at telling shadowhunters’ age.” Magnus makes a show out of looking away, sipping his drink. “So, is there anything else you want to know? Or am I free to go?”

“What?” Alexander stares at him, then seems to come to a realisation. “Oh, no, I’m—I didn’t think about how you would—I, uh, I really just wanted an excuse to stay.”

It’s Magnus’s turn to stare, but Alexander’s looking back at him, smiling slightly, the hard leader role slipping away from him along with the tension in his shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I do have to ask you some questions about this Circle thing, and I’m probably going to have to go deal with that tonight. I’m really sorry to cut our date short, though, so I—um, I mean, can I call you later? 

The unhappy knot that settled into Magnus’s stomach with the realisation of who Alexander is starts to unwind a bit. 

“This is going to be complicated,” he says, internally cursing himself for saying it. At the same time, though, they really need to go into whatever this is with eyes open. 

“I know,” Alexander says simply. “I’d like to try solving it, though. If—I mean, if you want to.”

Magnus can feel the smile growing on his face. It’s great to know that after several hundred years, life can still surprise and delight him this much. 

“Well then,” he says, “let’s start with getting all that tedious professional business out of the way first.”

He snaps his fingers. 

“Non-alcoholic,” he says, nodding towards the glass he just summoned into Alexander’s hand. “Since you’re on duty now.”

Alexander smiles back at him. 

“For now,” he says.

* * *

Alec stares at the door to Magnus’s apartment, trying to slow his heartbeat by sheer willpower. Magnus invited him over for dinner at eight, and Alec has been walking around the block for the last twenty minutes so that he doesn’t arrive embarrassingly early. He can hear some sort of gentle jazz music playing within the apartment—piano and vocals—and there’s the smell of something cooking. 

He smooths down his shirt, uncomfortably aware of how sticky his hands feel, then rings the doorbell. 

Magnus opens it within seconds, and it makes Alec grin to realise that he must have been waiting close by. The thought makes him calm down enough to dare giving Magnus a once-over, taking in the peach-coloured shirt open almost to the waist, the shimmering eyeshadow, the soft hair. He looks inviting and approachable, and almost without thinking, Alec leans in to kiss his cheek. 

Magnus smells like coriander, and he makes a surprised sound into Alec’s ear but then leans into the touch. 

“Well,” he says as Alec moves away again, smiling up at him, “it’s very nice to see you too.”

Alec clears his throat. 

“For you,” he says, holding out the bag he brought from _La Folie Douce_. “I mean, sorry if it’s cheesy, but I thought I don’t really know anything about wine, and I was going to buy flowers but then I wasn’t sure if you were allergic to anything…”

“It’s wonderful,” Magnus interrupts, grinning at him. “And for future reference, I usually love a merlot. And peonies.”

Alec feels his heart speed up again. “Good to know,” he manages. 

For a few seconds, they simply stand there, smiling at each other. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were planning on being fashionably late,” Magnus says eventually, raising his eyebrows, “so I only just put our dinner in the oven. It’ll be about half an hour. Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure,” Alec says and then, with the courage of the greeting kiss still lifting him up, inclines his head towards where he thinks the music’s coming from. “Or else, you know, I’m pretty sure I still owe you a dance.” Then, like an idiot, he hears himself continue, “Although I—uh, I’m not too good at dancing.”

The way Magnus looks back at him, though, all smiles, makes a thrill go through him. 

“How about I lead, then,” Magnus says, “and we’ll see how it goes.”

He puts the _La Folie Douce_ bag down on a nearby table, closes the door with a wave of his fingers and hold out his hands to Alec. Alec takes them cautiously, not sure of what to do, but Magnus guides his hands to the right position and then places his hand on Alec’s back, the fingers splayed wide against Alec’s shoulder blade. The touch is warm and comforting and strong, and as Magnus starts to move, Alec feels his body move along with him. 

“You’re, um, you’re good at this,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. 

“Well, I’ve had practise.”

For a while, they simply sway together, and then Magnus starts to lead larger steps, circling them around and moving them inwards into the apartment. Alec feels awkward at first, shuffling and clumsy, but Magnus’s hand remains steady on his back and despite Alec’s fears, he somehow manages not to step on Magnus’s feet. 

There are a couple of balcony doors open next to them, the night breeze blowing the scent of rosemary and sweet pea into the room, and Alec tilts his head down, leaning his cheek against Magnus’s and closing his eyes. 

There are bound to be complications from this, he knows. He’s had a few conversations with Izzy, which were enthusiastic and somewhat overly invested, with the warlock thing mostly waved away, but he’s also had a few with Jace and Raj, which were rather more sober. His parents have so far studiously ignored his sexuality, and he’s not sure of how he’s even supposed to start having this talk with them. And then there’s the Clave—a colossus of outdated regulations and prejudices. 

Right now, however, with the moonlight shining in on them and lighting up the glitter in Magnus’s hair, Alec feels like it’ll all work out. 

Somehow.


End file.
